Kassar laughed and waved his bloody lance high over his head, while I thought how strange it was that I could kill a man without an instant’s hesitation, yet allowed Kassar to move first on the brute animal.

Later that day I found myself riding next to Ogotai. His nephews had stopped for a quick meal of dried meat and a change of mounts. The afternoon sun felt warm, although the breeze was cool.

“Do you enjoy the hunt, man of the West?” he asked me.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before. It’s like a military campaign.”

He nodded. “True. It is a chance for the younger warriors to show their bravery and their ability to carry out orders. Many a general has been trained in battle against the beasts of the fields.”

So this was the Mongol version of the playing fields of Eton.

A servant rode up with some dried meat and fruits in a leather pouch, along with a silver flask of wine. Ogotai shared the meal with me as we kept on riding. Ahead of us, animals were scurrying, leaping, running in circles through the grass, more confused and terrified with each inexorable step our ponies took.

Ogotai was draining the last drop of wine, tipping the silver flask high and holding his head far back, when a boar broke out of a small thicket and started a mad dash directly toward us. The High Khan could not see the animal, but his pony did. Neighing wildly, it reared back on its hind legs.

Anyone but a Mongol would have been thrown out of the saddle. As it was, Ogotai lost the reins he was holding loosely in his left hand. The wine flask went flying, but he grabbed the pony’s mane and held on.

I saw all this out of the corner of my eye, because my attention was focused on the boar. I could see its hate-filled red eyes and flecks of saliva flying from its open mouth. The beast’s tusks gleamed like twin daggers, backed by a thickly muscled neck and a strong, compact body bristling with fury.

My own horse had swung around away from Ogotai’s, trying to avoid the boar’s rush, so that I could not shift the lance I carried in time to spit the charging animal. It was heading straight for Ogotai’s pony. Without even thinking, I dove from my saddle, pulling the dagger from my belt as I hit the boar’s flank like a football linebacker trying to stop a galloping fullback. We rolled over each other, the boar squealing and squirming, as I drove the dagger into its hide again and again, my left arm wrapped around its throat. I could hear the thudding of hooves around me — my own pony or Ogotai’s, I did not know which. I remember thinking, ludicrously, how foolish it would be to be killed by a horse’s kick while I thrashed around on the ground wrestling with a maddened boar.

Finally the tusker shuddered and went limp. I yanked my dagger from its hide with an effort and got slowly, shakily to my feet. A dozen Mongol warriors surrounded me, swords and lances ready to attack the now-dead animal. More warriors sat on horseback behind them, bows at the ready. Among them was Ogotai.

For long moments no one spoke. I spat grass and dirt from my mouth. My shoulder ached, but otherwise I seemed to be all right.

“Man of the West,” called Ogotai from his saddle, “is that the way you hunt boars in your country?”

The tension broke as they all laughed. I joined in, feeling suddenly foolish. If I had been a better horseman, I could have speared the animal and been done with it. Ogotai was right: I had made my kill the hard way.

A servant led my pony back to me and I swung into the saddle. Kassar grinned at me humorlessly; the wolf he had killed was tied behind his saddle. I saw that Ogotai’s nephews had returned, and began to lead my pony to my usual station, between the nephews and Kassar.

“No,” said the High Khan. “Stay here, beside me.” He reached out and gripped my arm. “You will ride at my side now — in case we meet more boars.”

I bowed my head at his compliment, then turned and gave Kassar a self-satisfied smile. He glowered at me.

Like friendships forged in the heat of battle, the bond between Ogotai and me became firm and lasting that day. We rode together for the rest of the hunt, and during the terrible day of carnage at the end, when we killed and killed and killed again until we were all delirious with blood lust, we never left each other’s side.

We rode side by side at the head of the troop on the return to Karakorum. Behind us stretched a mile-long column of mounted warriors and oxdrawn carts piled high with dead game — every kind of animal from squirrel to deer, from boar to wolf.

I was anxious to see Agla, to tell her of the adventure of the hunt, to hold her in my arms once more and feel her body against mine.

Ogotai became quieter as we neared Karakorum, more somber with every step we took. He looked almost as if he were in pain, and by the time we could see the dust clouds from the corrals that marked the city’s outskirts, he was obviously gloomy and depressed.

I began to think of Ahriman, and grew as downcast as Ogotai. The two of us had thrown off our problems and run away for more than a week, like schoolboys playing truant. But the problems were still there in Karakorum, waiting for us.

“My lord High Khan,” I said, swinging my pony so close to his that they almost touched, “it is time for me to deal with Ahriman.”

“What would you do, kill him?”

“If I must.”

Ogotai shook his head. “No. I will not allow blood to be shed, not even by you, my friend from the West. Ahriman has his place in Karakorum, as all men do.”

“He ministers to you,” I said.

If Ogotai was surprised to learn that I knew of Ahriman’s medications, he did not show it. “The man gives me a draught that helps me to sleep, nothing more.”

“Have you thought. High Khan, that his purpose may be to help you to sleep — permanently?”

“Poison?” Ogotai turned in the saddle, his eyes wide with surprise. Then he laughed. He did not answer my question; he merely laughed as if I had told the funniest joke in the world.

I puzzled over his reaction and tried to draw him into further conversation, but Ogotai was finished discussing the matter. He had made up his mind that Ahriman and I would not come into conflict; he had thrown his protection over us both and produced a stalemate between us.

At least that is what I thought as we rode into Karakorum.

It was almost nightfall by the time we had dismounted in the wide open area between the High Khan’s pavilion and the rest of the city to unload the tons of meat from the carts. A huge throng gathered, oohing and ahhing over the immense catch we had brought home. Ye Liu Chutsai appeared at Ogotai’s side, carrying a scroll from which he read to the High Khan. The affairs of state were already being poured into Ogotai’s ear, even before he had shaken the dust of the hunt from his shoulders.

I searched through the crowd and could not see Agla. She must be waiting at the house, I told myself. The boar that I had killed had been given to me by the High Khan, and now servants were hauling it off to be skinned and preserved. It would feed the two of us for many weeks.

Ahriman was nowhere to be seen, but I did not expect to find him rubbing shoulders with the mob. He was a creature of shadows and silences; he would seek out the High Khan later, when almost everyone else was asleep.

Finally the High Khan gave permission for his hunting companions to go off to their own quarters. I fairly sprinted for the house. I opened the door, expecting Agla to be waiting at the threshold for me.

She was not. I searched the two small rooms in vain. Agla was gone.